


hot blooded, all american girl

by meerminne



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Break Up, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hair-pulling, Happy Ending, Making Up, Oral Sex, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meerminne/pseuds/meerminne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack calls him Hanny, sometimes.<br/>Most times.<br/>Like when they’re riding the T because Noah wants to go to yet another museum, and Jack is leaning into him, weight shifting as she tries to fuck with her phone one handed. “Hanny.” He sighs and turns his head, pressing his nose to her cheek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hot blooded, all american girl

**Author's Note:**

> ❤️ [torigates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates), ❤️ [rrireal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrireal), ❤️ [bluejayys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejayys) & ❤️ [engine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/engine). y'all are the bee's knees.
> 
> entire fic happened because of bonnie mckee's "american girl" which is a CLASSIC OF OUR TIME. go listen to it and try to tell me that isn't eich's hype up song.

 

 

It starts because Jack wakes Noah up mid afternoon nap with a craving for a blue slurpee. Her hands are hot around his ankles, shaking his legs back and forth. The ceiling fan sluggishly moves hot air around the hotel room, the pull strings clinking together. Noah’s shirt is sticking to his chest. Mouth dry with the start of a headache, he slips his shorts on and shoves his feet in his shoes.

 

 

 

“Blue isn’t even a flavor,” Noah complains, jumping up on the curb in front of the 7/11 to follow Jack into the blessedly cool store. “Sweet Jesus,” he moans, pulling at the damp fabric of his shirt. He sees Jack shiver, her arms covered in goosebumps.

“Blue’s the _best_ flavor.” Jack is distracted, guiding them to the side of the store with the slurpee machines.

The “out of order” sign is decidedly not what Jack wants to see. “Fuck.” She leans against the counter, hip banging into the cups. She ignores them in favor of staring at Noah.

“What?” he’s still plucking at the front of his shirt futilely. As soon as they go back outside he’ll be back to sticky and hot, versus sticky and slightly less hot. Jack takes her phone out of her pocket and no, _no_.

“I’m not walking to another store.”

Jack looks up at him.

“I’m not.”

Jack squints.

“Fuck you.”

 

 

 

Jack glares at the “Closed for remodel” sign on the door of the 7/11. She presses her face and hands to the glass, leaving smeared fingerprints of defeat in her wake.

“Noah.” She says. He hums, coming to stand next to her. The back of her tank top is darkened with sweat. Her hands curl into fists and bang on the glass. Once, hard and sharp.

“Noah, this is war.”

She turns to him. Brushes sweat out of her eyes with the back of her hand. Her curls are both limp and frizzy, somehow, matted to her forehead and attempting a daring escape from the bun high on her head. She’d tried explaining the physics of it to him one of their first days in Boston but - he mostly was paying attention to the way she gently finger combed through her wet hair, looking at him in the mirror.

“No, no, this isn’t war. Let’s just go get iced coffee or something. I’ll buy you one of those ugly donuts you like.”

“Excuse _you_.”

 

 

 

Jack calls him Hanny, sometimes.

Most times.

Like when they’re riding the T because Noah wants to go to yet another museum, and Jack is leaning into him, weight shifting as she tries to fuck with her phone one handed. “Hanny.” He sighs and turns his head, pressing his nose to her cheek.

Like when he’s sleepy, toeing his shoes off and kicking them into the corner of the hotel room they’ve booked for three more weeks. “Hanny! We _live_ here.”

 

 

(Like when she presses her body into his against the rough brick outside of a bar they can’t get into, her breath hot on his face. “Hanny.” Her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his ribs. "Hanny.")

 

 

 

She pounds her fists on the slurpee machine in the next 7/11, declaring war on all 7/11s in Cambridge.

"Only Cambridge?"

"For now." He sees her slipping her phone out of her back pocket, swiping Google maps open again.

"Jack, we aren't leaving Cambridge for a fuckin' blue slurpee."

When she tilts her head at him, eyes bright over ruddy cheeks, he knows they're getting on the T again.

 

 

 

“What the fuck d’you mean you don’t carry blue raspberry,” Jack intones at the cashier after testing the blue lemonade flavor. “What. Do. You. Mean.”

Noah puts his hand on the small of her back and herds her out of the store, mouthing “ _sorry!_ ” at the high schooler behind the counter.

 

 

 

Jack sullenly sips at her iced coffee. “These aren’t even real crullers,” she bitches at him, shoving her phone with a wikipedia article on the history of crullers lighting the screen in his face. They’ve learned that the best strategy for arguments is to present a strong offensive, so the other side can’t argue in public. In private, they usually end up rolling around on the floor trying to tackle the other. Noah, per Google, has two pounds on her.

He notices she still steals half of his cruller. They are tasty, for being as ugly as they are.

They get stopped a lot for pictures, both crouching down to put their arms around little kids. Noah pinches Jack’s side when she side eyes someone wearing an Oiler’s shirt coming toward them. “Be nice,” he whispers.

“You be nice,” she hisses and pinches at him with sneaky, sharp fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

He wakes up before her, stretching his arms above his head and hearing his back make several alarming pops. He turns to look at the other bed. She’s on her stomach with her face mashed into the pillow. They’d blasted the tiny window A/C unit all night and his skin is cold. He could pull the sheet back over his shoulders, fall back asleep until she starts jumping on his bed demanding they go for a run.

He could -

He stares at the ceiling. _I’m not going to do it_ , he thinks. _I’m not_.

His keys press hard into his palm on his way out the door.

 

 

 

He comes back and she’s brushing her teeth. She’s shimmying her hips to the beat of something playing from her iPad precariously balanced on the counter.

“Oh. I,” he starts. He kicks his shoes off and sets the drink down on the nightstand closest to him. Thinks about chucking it into the trash. And then throwing the trash out the window.

“Morning,” she says. “Did you run without me?” She turns around and she immediately narrows her eyes at the cup.

“Did you fuckin’ - ”

“Shut it, Eichel.” He walks past her into the bathroom and shuts the door. He sits on the side of the bathtub and contemplates how much shit she’s about to give him.

The door moves with how hard she’s thumping her hands on it. “What the hell, Hanifin!” She crows. “That was supposed to be my victory!”

He turns the shower on.

 

 

 

(Like when he pulls her onto his lap, kisses her quiet when she gets too loud. “Hanny, Hanny,” she pants.

Like when she calls him before the draft, whispers broken and tired over the phone that they can’t, _she_ can’t. He says he knows, he’ll do whatever she wants. “Hanny,” she grinds out, frustrated and raw.

Like when she texts him a few weeks later, after their last interviews together when he’d thought _maybe_ , but. She tells him she’s thinking about training in Boston if his weak ass is up for it.)

 

 

He’s leveled up two stages on Candy Crush and can’t actually avoid her any more, so he stretches his legs and shakes the pins and needles out.

They’d agreed to just be friends. “A bro-cation,” she’d said with a punch to his arm. They’d met with a trainer, and six days a week had to adhere to strict workouts and guidelines. They had to take in an obscene amount of calories and Jack had made a list of places she wanted to try. Mostly in the North End, unsurprisingly. “I like lasagna, fuck you.”

She’s cross legged on his bed with Netflix going on her iPad, slurping noisily. Her lips are stained blue.

“So. You still,” she clears her throat, “still like me?” She fiddles with the straw. She looks up, chin lifted defiantly. He doesn’t know how to fix this, fix them.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, puts a hand over her ankle. “I do. I’m sorry.”

She makes a frustrated noise. “Don’t _apologize_. Jesus.” Her mouth wraps around the straw, pulling it out of the cup as she chews on it. He slides his hand over the fine bones of her foot.

Noah feels her toes flex under his fingers. She takes a breath. “I like you, too.”

He snorts, fitting his thumb around the sharp jut of her ankle. “No shit, Sherlock. That - I didn’t think that was part of the problem.” Jack makes a small noise, maybe surprise, maybe questioning. “I know it’s a lot, the pressure. The media. I - I don’t want to make it harder for you, Jack.”

The cup is dropped onto the nightstand between the beds. He pushes his hand up the back of her calf, fingers running over the sensitive skin at the back of her knee. “If you want to try. I’m in.” He rolls his eyes at her.

“God, Eichs. Nice declaration of love there, huh?” He drags her down the bed with a hold on both of her ankles, laughing when she knocks the empty cup to the floor in surprise. He crawls up her body, boxing her head in with his arms.

“You got anything better, Hanny?” She stares up at him, biting at her blue tinged lips. Her breath smells sweet.

He tries to put everything he’s felt the past two weeks into the kiss. Waking up with her, going to bed with her - it’s more than he thought he’d get again. She tastes like artificial raspberries.

 

 

 

Like when she cants her hips up, pleading for more, “Hanny, please.”

He bites at the delicate skin stretching over the protruding bone of her hip. He ducks his head to watch his fingers move in her, knows his mouth is open but can’t get his shit together enough to close it. She’s slick, thigh wet against his cheek. “Fuck, Jack. You’re so wet for me,” he flicks his thumb over her clit. It’s been months since they were here, like this, but she responds just as beautifully when he lowers his mouth to her cunt.

“Noah, Noah,” she chants when he pulls her thighs over his shoulders, his fingers sliding wet over her thighs where they press into thick muscle. He squeezes his handfuls of thigh reassuringly when her hips jerk up.

She likes when he circles her clit with the point of his tongue. She likes when he pushes her thighs wide, tilts her hips up with his hands warm under her ass, sucks lightly on her folds.

He watches her shake apart under him. Fist between her teeth, a hint of blue on her tongue showing when she throws her head back, riding her cunt down on his face. “Please,” she begs. “Hanny.”

Noah doesn’t let up when he feels her start to get wetter against his mouth, slick spreading down his chin. He licks firm strokes over her, tightening his arms around her legs. He remembers getting black eyes, before. He’d get her pressed back against a wall, a leg hooked over his shoulder. She’d managed to knee him in the cheek when she came, moaning frantically at the loss of his mouth.

Her thighs start to tremble under his palms, her breaths harsh and loud. When she stops chirping him and goes silent, her legs tensing, he knows he has to keep steady pressure of his tongue next to her clit, brushing over the sensitive skin and smirking to himself when her hips jerk up, thighs clamping around his head.

He feels her pulse against his mouth, echoed in the muffled moans she gets out around her fist. Licks once more around her clit to see her shiver before her hand comes down to push his head away.

“Fuck,” she pants. “Fuck.” Noah presses a wet kiss to the inside of her thigh. He slides his hands out from under her hips to pat her on the stomach.

He waits her out, sitting up and opening the fly of his shorts. It doesn’t take long, her foot kicking out at his thigh. “C’mon,” she slurs. “Wanna fuck me?”

“You know, I think maybe I do,” he says, hands stroking over her legs. He taps her hip. “Flip over for me.” She squints down at him and grumbles about lazy assholes, but turns over. With the backs of her knees on either side of his legs, he can’t help but cup his palms on the swell of her ass.

“Hanny,” Jack whines when his thumbs edge closer to where she’s wet and waiting. She’s shifting restlessly on the bed and tangling her fingers in the sheets. He pulls her up by the hips, hooks his forearm under her to drag her back to him.

“Condom, Eichs,” he nips at the muscles twitching at the small of her back. “Got one?”

“Uh,” she mumbles into the pillow, hips rolling back into him. “In my bag, maybe?”

He slaps her ass hard enough to make her squeak. He finds condoms in the side pocket of her bag, shoved under socks and old movie tickets. Tearing one off he turns back to the bed and, fuck. He shoves his shorts down over his hips, palming his dick to his stomach.

Jack’s how he left her, ass high and thighs together. Her underwear are still hanging off of one of her feet. Her pussy is red, the slick on her shining in the light. He wants to bury his face between her legs again. Instead he slaps her ass again, watches how she presses her fingers into the headboard to move back into it. “Come _on_ ,” she whines.

He takes his time putting the condom on. “Problem?” he asks when she turns her head to glare at him, ass swinging side to side. He drags a hand over the back of her thigh as he gets in position behind her, kneeing his way between her legs. He angles the hand on his dick down to spread her open with the blunt tip of his cock.

He remembers she needs a little warm up to take cock. She likes to be teased.

She slaps a hand back toward him, head resting on one crooked elbow to look back at him. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth. Her face is flushed, blotchy and red. The hand skitters over his skin to land on his hip, thumb digging into his thigh.

He remembers the reddened skin of her throat, thrown back as she rode his cock, desperate and rushed. He closes his eyes and presses his hips forward to catch the head in the dip of her cunt. She pushes her hips back and he’s surrounded by tight, hot, “ _fuck_ , fuck,” he breathes. Looks down at where she’s taking it so well, just the first inch or so.

“God, Jack,” he chokes out, rubs a hand reassuringly over her back. Holds her still when she squirms to get more.

“Fuck you,” she growls. She moves her arms under her, pushes up and tries to fuck back onto him. “ _Please_.” He gives her another few inches, cursing at how fucking good she feels wrapped around him. Her head drops down and she gives a low moan. “Thank you,” she says, rough and low.

Noah’s nails are digging into her hips. He knows he’s going to leave bruises. He’ll probably be able to see them over the hem of her shorts, when she reaches for something or bends over.

Jack tightens around his cock when he slides all the way in, her back slick with sweat. “Shit, Hanifin. Shit, hold on.” He counts his breaths as her watches her slowly start to roll her hips, working herself on his dick.

He lets her at it for a couple minutes. Panting, arching her back to get the right angle.

“How you doin’?” he asks, moving a hand to run through her hair, damp at the nape.

“Never better,” she chirps back, voice wavering only when he tugs on her curls.

He grabs a fistful of hair, close to the base of her skull and _pulls_. “Fuck!” She gets up on her hands to follow, ass flush to his pelvis. “Fuckin’, knew you wouldn’t forget that,” she mutters under her breath. She yelps when he hooks his arms around her waist and brings her up to straddle his thighs.

He knows he’s not actually any deeper, the way she’s clenching around him makes him breathless. Her settles her legs more comfortably over his, splayed wide. She reaches an arm behind his neck, brings her mouth to his jaw.

“I missed you,” he whispers, running his sticky mouth over her shoulder and up the soft curve of her neck.

“Sap,” she crows. She brings her free hand up to cup a breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers.

“Fine. I missed you coming on my dick,” he says into her hair. He feels a shiver go through her. “Happy?”

“Yep.” She pops the _p_ and grinds down onto his cock. There isn’t much leverage for her to move. He knows she likes this best - full, stretched around his cock, only able to rock her hips in little thrusts that get her right where she wants.

Noah wants to get sappy, tell her how much he’s missed having her in his arms like this. Missed being able to tilt her head to kiss her, shut up her indignant noises with his lips as he starts to fuck her in earnest. “Want you to come,” whispered into the shell of her ear amidst soft nips at her throat.

She does, her fingers slick over her clit. She pulls on his neck to bury her face in his hair, legs straining. “ _Yes_ , god.” He fucks her through it and only slows when she weakly taps her hand on his face.

He brushes hair back from her eyes, turns her head so he can look at her.

“You want me to stop?” Her eyes are half lidded, flushed from her cheeks to her chest. “I’m close.”

“Keep, fuck,” Jack pants out, “keep going.” He gently pulls out and maneuvers her back down to the bed, straightens her legs out, straddles her ass.

“Not gonna go too deep,” he tells her as he pushes back in. His dick is pulling wet noises out of her. He rocks into her, liking the soft, tired smile on her face. “Fuck, you feel good.” He bites at his lower lip, trying to keep his thrusts shallow.

“Just come, Hanny,” she whines.

Noah comes laughing, hands gripping her ass.

 

 

 

Like when he hooks his index finger around her pinky, links their fingers loosely. They swing their arms as they wait in an ever expanding line for cannoli. “Neat, Hanny.”

Like when she benches more than him for the third time in a row. “Suck it, Hanny!”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come yell over at my [tomblor](http://meerminne.tumblr.com/)


End file.
